


Bite Me

by The_Muse



Series: The 'Powers That Be' can Suck It [1]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Allison, Alive Vernon Boyd & Erica Reyes, Angelus warnings, Buffy is dead, Everything after season 1 of Teen Wolf and Buffy never happened, F/F, F/M, Faith is dead, Jenny Calander feels, Kendra is dead, M/M, Timeline for tw changed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-20
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2018-08-15 20:19:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8071315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Muse/pseuds/The_Muse
Summary: Being the new girl is hard. Being the slayer? Harder. Malia just wants to start over and pretend that the last three years never happened but when a new watcher shows up at school Malia decides to just pack it in and accept the fact that she may never make it to senior year.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Binge watching Buffy is to blame for this alongside my dislike of canon!Malia's choppy character development but my love for her character irregardless of the inconsistencies.

So dad has this thing. This horrible and terrible thing that he does that makes Malia's skin crawl and a harsh embarrassed flush redden her face like a ripe tomato because she's sixteen not six.

She groans and burrows beneath her quilts as dad bounces beside her, shakes her awake.

"C'mon kid. Rise 'n shine!" 

Dad's voice is too loud and just this side of annoying but Malia thinks about the fact that dad's even less of a morning person than she is and that he's moved far away from his home town and everything he knows for her-

She sits up, spits out hair that's gotten in her mouth and squints in his general direction, he's dressed in his deputy uniform and bright eyed and bushy tailed. No one should be this happy in the morning, it's unnatural.

"Did you manage to get some clothes unpacked?" Dad gestures at the tall stacks of boxes.

"No." Malia curses herself for not labeling the boxes. "Am I gonna be late?"

"It's five forty. You got time."

* * *

 

Malia remembers being four and meeting dad for the first time. It was right after uncle Henry died and Malia's mother, who abandoned her when she was born, had decided that it was time for Malia's dad to take responsibility for their daughter.

One that he'd apparently not known about, which Malia learns from her grandfather John years later. That her mother was older than her father by quite a bit and that she'd never told him because he was a highschool junior who wasn't ready to be a dad.

Anyway, Malia is four years old when her uncle dies, four when she meets her twenty year old father and sees her mother for the last time ever. It's a crazy memory, crazier how dad had gotten over the shock before her grandparents and his little brother by kneeling down and grinning.

It'd been an instantaneous bond. Dad seemed to understand Malia when she went quiet, that she preferred being outside and that she had a bit of a compulsive attitude. 

"She gets it from me." Dad always said proudly whenever he was pulled in to the principles office, which was often because Malia had a tendency to use her fists instead of her words to ease arguments on the playground.

It used to drive her uncle crazy but dad understood how hard it was to verbalize her thoughts or share her emotions or functionally put together plans. Like him.

So when Malia started pulling away from her friends on the gymnastics and dance team he didn't ask her what was wrong or if she might be having issues with her friends. When she pulled out of both teams he'd been supportive.

Dad didn't need to ask to understand, of course this silent understanding had its limitations when Malia, her best friend Haley and her math tutor Mr. Hartland go missing and when Malia-

They left Kansas after Malia was released from the hospital. Malia hadn't gone to the funeral's nor had her old friend's been to see her. Hartland was dead. Haley was dead and Malia had managed to escape.

Dad decided to put in a transfer and pulled Malia from Central high while she was still in the hospital. Everything happened in a blur of cardboard boxes, packing tape and bubble wrap. The actual move happens after her physical therapy and she's never felt more horrible.

They're in Wyoming when dad gets serious with her. 

"You gonna explain this to me or are we gonna keep pretending nothing is going on."

"Nothing _is_ going on. My tutor was kidnapped, my best friend and I were kidnapped. Things happened and people died."

Dad slammed both hands on the steering wheel, it's was the first time that he'd ever been furious with her.

"The past year, the entire year you went and changed. You tell me right now what the hell is going on in that head of yours, Malia Grace or I swear to God!"

She tells him the saner parts, started hanging out with the wrong crowd, got bored with gymnastics and dance. She realized that her former friend's were kind of shallow and wouldn't understand her anymore. 

He snorts, grins meanly but takes her words with a grain of salt. They haven't talked about it since but Malia is pretty sure that her father just knows she's full of crap.

But they don't talk about it.


	2. Two

Chemistry is a class crafted from the devil and if she can, Malia is certain she'd take a personal pleasure in ending it forever. Or maybe her annoyance stemmed from the chemistry teacher who ooze's sleaze and rudeness from his pores, whose mousey little face is scrunched up in disgust at his students.

The worst part about this guy is that he seems to have a major hard on for her dad.

That is in no way alright with her, was traumatizing in the morning when her dad had dropped her off, doing his level best to embarrass Malia by getting out of the cruiser to open her door.

It was then that he was spotted by Professor Sleazeball, who'd nearly tripped over himself to make an introduction. When her dad, who hadn't noticed as usual, gave a wide grin introduced himself back Malia wanted to die.

Because Harris said her dad's name like he could taste it. Dean. The name Dean had rolled off of Harris's tongue and never in Malia's life had her dad's name made her physically ill.

But it came pretty close that morning.

 It gets worse because Malia is bombarded by girls asking her about her dad. Never mind that they've never met Malia, all that they can do is ask about her 'older brother' and gape open mouthed at her correction, because he is most certainly _not_ her brother.

She forgets sometimes how she and her father appear since their ages aren't that far apart. But whatever, Malia takes the low level humiliation in stride because this is the most normal her life has been.

She'll just have to beg her dad to never step foot out of his cruiser without letting him know that he's attracted attention.

 She's so lost in thought that she somehow nearly misses a kid wildly flailing at her behind Harris's back. Malia side glances with a bit of a cocked brow and takes him in. All big brown eyed and moles.

Whatever.

Malia grins when the weird kid gets detention but inwardly vomits at Harris's expression at her pleasure like he's gaining browny points.

The bell rings and Malia cannot get out fast enough.

* * *

 

Erica is used to walking with her head down. It works for getting people to ignore her but sometimes her messy ponytail gets pulled anyway or someone yanks on the back of her sweatshirt.

So when someone barrels in to the back of her sending Erica crashing face first into the linoleum, well she's not surprised about it.

What is surprising is that the girl who'd pushed her down hovers anxiously and apologetically. No one apologizes to Erica.

She gets a good look at the girl, her brown eyes, long ash brown hair and round flushed face and comes to the conclusion that she's new. No one whose been in Beacon Hills high would be this nice.

Erica takes the proffered hand that hauls her up with surprising strength, and decides to walk off.

Or she might have if the girl hadn't stopped her.

"Are you okay?"

 "I'm fine." Erica tips her head forward to hide her red and sore cheek but the motion is stopped by the firm fingers gripping her chin. "Um..."

The girl has no sense of boundaries and no issues with grabbing a complete stranger. She tilts Erica's face up and to the left, stares balefully at the slight bruise.

"You're bleeding." The girl says briefly before taking Erica's hand. "Where's the nurse's office?"

For lack of anything to say, shocked beyond all reason, she points down the hall and allows herself to be pulled.

"I can walk by myself, you know."

"Sorry." The girl releases Erica's hand and walks silently beside her. "For making you break your face. I'm usually better at taking in my surroundings. I'm Malia, by the way."

"Erica."

They don't really talk after that once they reach the nurse and after a bandaid and an ice pack they go their separate ways.

Erica doesn't think she'll talk to her again, but when lunch rolls around Malia gracelessly throws herself in the seat beside Erica and give her tray a glare she feels like her luck is finally coming up. 

"The tuna casserole seems to have made you angry. Are you okay?"

Malia turns to look at her with a shrug.

"What do you know about the English teacher?"

"Miss Blake?"

"No. The _English_ one."

"The history teacher? Well I know that he transferred the beginning of the year, why?"

Malia pokes her tuna and Erica decides that she's made the weirdest new friend. Well at least she has a friend this year, right? 


	3. Three

Malia feels terrible for knocking that girl over and making her bleed but she feels even worse for not just dropping her off and running to her history class. Being late to class is bad but being late on you first day is just asking to make the worst impression.

Her classroom is the only one left opened and Malia is giddy to find her teacher is absent from class. She walks into class, ignores the awkward staring and slides into an empty seat in the back.

"Seats taken." A weirdly attractive Letterman glowers beneath neatly plucked brows.

"By who?" Malia grips her bag and waits for a response.

"My bag."

His face is strong, angular and dusted lightly with freckles. His pouty lips lift in a snarl. Small town pretty boy turned bully, how pathetic. 

Malia settles in her seat and begins taking out her things feeling immensely satisfied by Letterman's surprised expression. 

"Are you deaf? Move!"

"No."

 Before Letterman can utter a response the teacher strolls in. The man can't be older than his late forties and completely covered in tweed. His glasses slide down his nose and he nearly drops his books trying to push them up.

The fact that he's English comes to no surprise and the lesson runs smoothly but Malia gets a strange coiling dread sit in her belly. Even Letterman's glaring doesn't take her attention away from her dread.

"What the hell is your problem?" Letterman whispers close to her ear, his warm breath glancing her skin. "You glare any harder at your notebook and you might set it on fire."

"I'm fine." Malia shakes her head like that would expell her dread. It doesn't and Letterman seems unconvinced.

"Sure." 

Class is boring and Malia's dread fills her with nausea. She's only too glad when the bell rings.

"Miss Tate? A moment please."

Malia groans as Letterman snickers as he collects his things.

"Is there a problem Jackson?" 

Letterman or Jackson shakes his head and steps out of class with the others. Malia collects her things and wonders if she's in trouble when she feels her teacher approach. She looks up just as he sets a heavy leather bound book down, hard on her desk.

It's achingly familiar and Malia forgets to breathe.

"We have much to discuss."


	4. Four

The first time Malia saw the book she was fourteen. Back then all she really cared about was dance and gymnastics, though the latter was mostly an excuse to keep herself limber more than anything.

Hartland was in his late twenties and pristine in his sharply pressed suit and polished shoes but even as he'd cornered her in the schools auditorium she'd felt his nerves. 

Like Mister Giles, Hartland was direct and had done similar to her, he'd deposited the book in front of Malia. This time, however, Malia knew exactly what it meant and who the man was.

"You know I should have figured it out." 

"Oh?"

"The tweed." Malia gestures with false bravado. "The fabric of your people."

Mister Giles doesn't laugh or look even remotely offended he looks tired, world weary and as over it all as Malia feels. Maybe, she thinks, he gets it.

"You're very....Rutger mentioned that you were the sarcastic type."

"You knew Hartland?" Malia sits up, curiosity peaked. 

"Yes, quite well as a matter of fact. It was by my persuasion that he was given his post, after the former slayer was killed." Mister Giles says it like he's gargling glass. "He was very proud."

"I got him killed. Nothing to be too proud of to be honest." Two people, Malia mentally corrects herself, Haley had been there too.

She'd been the first to die.

"Are you the welcome committee? Here to remind of my super special destiny where I'm the one girl in all the world capable enough to do the job your people are just too lazy for?"

"I am your watcher."

"Don't get too excited! You look like someone died."

"She did." Mister Giles says with what Malia would call, a heartbreaking smile. "My first slayer was killed twelve years ago."

Interest peaked again, Malia decides to ask him about his former slayer when the bell rings. The classroom door opens and the funny kid with moles from chemistry and a kid with a crooked jaw come in first followed by a group of other teenagers.

"Perhaps we can find another time to continue this discussion." He taps the book. "Page thirty seven."

 


	5. Five

 

"Kansas? Doesn't seem very exciting." Lydia Martin says breezily as she and her _Lydiaettes_ corner Malia, and Erica by extension, in the girls locker room.

Erica wonders how long it will take for Lydia to absorb Malia into her group of brain dead wannabe cheerleaders and prepares herself for inevitable friendlessness again.

Its not like shes completely jealous about it, so used to being left behind because Lydia had a certain level of animosity towards Erica from way back in elementary school. Its just that Erica hates the fact that shes just made a new friend, probably, for no reason at all.

"Yeah, like Beacon Hills is any better? You can't even find this place on a map." Malia leaned against her locker and lifted her brows, daring.

She doesn't seem impressed at all by Lydia's pretty face or fashionable clothes and pretty hair.

Well isn't that surprising?

If anything Malia seems a bit antagonistic, annoyed still by whatever happened in her history class as she squares her shoulders and stands up a little straighter, no longer leaning against the lockers but upright and a little angry at the slight jeering of her home town.

"Forks Washington isn't on the map either or Sunnydale." So Erica pipes in the lighten the mood only to shrink back by the level glare she receives from Lydia. "I mean -"

"That's true. Though with all the bad things happening in Sunnydale you'd think it would be in the map." Lydia ticks off, examining her manicure and trying to appear cool. "Haven't you made any friends yet?"

"Seriously?" Malia indicates with a jut of her chin at Erica. "Is Erica some kind of ghost? Am I the only one who can see her?"

"You're kidding right?"

"About?"

Lydia waves her off with a laugh, an expression on her face says that Malia will get it later, it's demeaning and stupid and Malia grinds her teeth as the strawberry blonde and her minions walk off.

"That actually happened." Malia grinds out. "I've just literally lived through a crappy teen movie."

"Welcome to Beacon Hills High. Where the popular students are unnaturally beautiful and heinous while everyone else is just...there." Erica deflates. 

"She's got a thing against you, huh."

"I'm the schools biggest looser. Everyone has a thing against me."

* * *

 Isaac Lahey doesn't mind being a werewolf though the look of pure terror on his fathers face had dampened it just a little. There was something about frightening him that didn't make it worth it at all, because Isaac remembers when his dad was still dad back when his mother and brother were still alive.

Oh well, he thinks, skulking around the high school watching Scott McCall and his girlfriend whisper and suck face like they're keeping it a secret instead of being highly obvious, that's just the way it is. 

He spots Erica Reyes and the new girl and wonders how long before Erica is left friendless again but really doesn't care because she has nothing to do with his orders or with his life whatsoever.

It sounds mean but there is something more that he has to worry about and being nice to the most unpopular girl in school has nothing to do with it so he ultimately tells himself that he doesn't care.

Derek said to scout out possibly betas and that's what Isaac is doing and while he sees that Erica might be a good choice the girl whose with her puts the reigns in his plans. There's something about her that isn't right, though he can't detect if shes something not human.

He'll ask Derek about it later, Isaac tells himself as he pushes off the wall beside the chemistry classrooms door and walks calmly but quickly down the hall towards the large double doors, the sounds of heated kisses and whispers ceasing is an indicator that its time to go.

He'll corner Scott later or maybe his friend, though that's a last resort. Derek had been clear, that speaking or doing anything to Stilinski was a no, the kid was off limits unless ordered otherwise.

Jackson wasn't given orders or tasks like Isaac as he was less inclined to take them seriously, but even he'd understood something that Isaac was obviously not seeing.

"Whatever." Isaac pushed the double door and walks clear out into the fading sunlight.

* * *

 

There are four ashen piles on the clean cut grass, the gibbous moon hangs heavily in the cloudless black sky dotted by white pin prick stars.

The cemetery is a quiet save for the sounds of Malia's breathing and Mister Giles clucking tongue but otherwise everything is peacefull.

Its been a while since Malia had taken down more than one vampire at a time but the burn in her muscles and lungs feels good as she sucks in a much needed breath of fresh air.

There are one too many gravestones, Malia notes and if shes curious all she has to do is look at the birth and death dates to know how many of these people died. In the few years of her calling it hadn't exactly taken a rocket scientist to know that most young people never did die the way you'd think.

The leading cause of deaths in towns with this many cemetery usually amounted to one thing and she can still hear Hartland's voice as he told her about the deaths in the seventeenth century that were classified as plagues and how lucky the dead might have been had it been true.

"So, how'd I do?"

"Slowly." Mister Giles looks up from the heavy tome in his hands. "Were you never properly trained?"

"I was. Its just been a while since I've been out on the job. I was in physical therapy for a while, if you'd bothered asking to begin with." Malia rolls her eyes at the questioning look she receives. "Didn't your bosses tell you anything? I was out of the game for nearly a year after a run in with...well its better left unsaid isn't it? Thats how Hartland died, you know, he was trying to protect me."

Mister Giles leaned against a particularly large tombstone, an angel.

How ironic.

He crossed his arms and regarded Malia patiently as to allow her to continue, of course he wouldn't give her a choice, she needed to be trained and to do so he would need to understand her injuries in full and of course the reason for it.

"I read up on him, you know, when I was in the hospital. He was...God he was bad, so unbelievably evil I couldn't even finishing reading up. I mean, what he did, I thought he was just crazy. Not...crazy creative."

"Who was this vampire?" Mister Giles leaned forward, more interested in this aspect.

He'd known that she'd been injured when Hartland and her friend died but he'd never been informed of how badly she was injured or that she'd been in the hospital long term.

With a slayers abilities to heal at a much quicker rate than the average human that must mean that the injuries she'd received were that substantial.

Of course at the familiarity at the name the very utterance of it made Mister Giles jump back in surprise and a look of terror cross over his face. Whoever the vampire was, Malia realized, it was one that Mister Giles was _very_ familiar with.


	6. Six

All Erica had wanted to do was climb just like the rest of her class. Was it too much to ask for, to do something normal? Not that rock climbing in the gym was normal, but the point stood.

Having a seizure and falling into the arms of Scott McCall was humiliating but less so than the time she'd seized and wet herself. People still liked to remind her about it like she was still some sort of freak.

Scott was nice but when she'd looked up all she could see was Lydia's minions minus their queen giggling at her and Stiles Stilinski ignoring her existence.

Erica had only been too glad to be taken to the hospital and away from everything.

Of course glad is relative in the face of this incredibly attractive stranger, who'd wheeled her into an empty room.

And the weirdest part, other than cures and bites and freakin' werewolves had to be what was happening right now.

Erica had been about to say yes when the door behind her creaked opened. The werewolf or Derek Hale, as he'd introduced himself, had gone stock still and the apparent false calm demeanor was replaced by furious discontent. His heavy brows furrowed, his lips curled into a snarl. 

"Erica?"

Erica startled at the familiar voice and half inclined her head. What was Malia doing here, she'd wanted to ask but fell short at her friends expression. Calculating.

"I heard about what happened in gym and called my dad. Who is that?"

"He's -"

"None of your business." Derek snarled. "Get out."

The door shuts behind Malia as she steps inside. 

"Yeah, I don't think so. I think you should leave."

"I'm not doing anything wrong so I'm not going anywhere."

"Really? Because from where I'm standing it seems like some wannabe greaser is hitting on a fifteen year old girl in the hospital. A wannabe greaser that's got to be at least in his early twenties."

 Derek doesn't move or look away. There's something like antipathy in his his eyes but it doesn't necessarily seem like it's targeted at Malia. It's with himself, Erica realizes as he moves away from her and squares his shoulders, the moment that she's forgotten is heavy.

But not unwanted.

"Listen kid," he stresses the word, like he's reminding them of the gap in ages, not himself. "There's not a lot of time to explain everything and I've already told your friend too much to just leave peacefully."

"So your gonna kill her if she talks?"

"If I have to. Yeah."

The werewolf thing. Erica can assure him to the moon and back that she'll never tell, but looking into his inscrutable eyes she knows that he won't believe her.

"Erica, do you think that you can make it back to your room on your own?"

* * *

 

 He reminds Malia of bad times, of a dusty old cellar that smells like mold, piss and bile. The leather jacket and the hair is familiar, but the posturing is different, the scowl on a face unfamiliar makes it so that Malia is able to comfortably stand in the confines of the hospital room, Erica now gone and presumably safe.

It's not difficult for Malia to suss out what he is by the flashing of his eyes because Kansas had nearly as many werewolves as people, but this man seems too different from them.

The packs that Hartland had introduced to her had been large blue collar families with loud voices and large smiles against ruddy cheeks. 

This guy is alone, which makes him stranger than any wolf she's met, and he seems dangerous. All wolves, she reminds herself, are dangerous but this guy exudes desperation and it's that desperation that makes her weary.

"You don't have a pack?"

He doesn't speak but she can see the hackles raise, wondering how she knows and trying to grasp at what she is. He won't know, not unless she tells him, not with sniffing her out.

"You were seducing a teenager to bring her into your pack? A little pathetic isn't it?"

"I don't exactly have a choice now, do I?" He finally speaks. "Like I said, there isn't enough time. Sundown soon."

It clicks.

"You're killing vampire's. That's why you need her? Because you can't do it alone?"

"You know a lot for being human." He doesn't keep the surprise out of his voice, though his posture doesn't loosen. "So, who are you? A kid that stumbled into vampires, got away and turned to the internet for answers? I can tell you right now that your missing the point." His jaw ticks, aggravated. "I can help her with the seizures, she'd be stronger than she's ever been. She would have pack, power."

"In exchange for losing any chance of making her own choices? Of going to college? Of having a normal life? She wouldn't have been able to do any of that because you, what, want to protect some podunk town from vampires?"

" _And_ demons, rogue hunters and the list goes on and on in this place." The mask slips, he looks younger, tired. "My family has kept this town safe for hundreds of years and in the ten years we've been gone it's turned into a free for all. The number of cemeteries has doubled, what am I supposed to do? Wait for the- _no_ , forget it."

The Slayer.

That's what this man had meant to say when he'd decided that he'd had enough of their discussion. He'd been waiting for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is where shit, essentially, begins to hit the fan


	7. Chapter 7

Buffy had been impossible, she'd been a spoilt brat and had never kept her mouth shut. Her flimsy excuses to get out of training had been maddening and her jokes tiresome. This new Slayer was nothing like Buffy, Giles thought sullenly as he graded papers, aggressive with his red pen strokes, the soft yellow light from the library lamp, taken from the Sunnydale library the day he'd left the place, a familiar warm hue which reminded him of Buffy and her friends or Kendra afterwards or Willow's questions and Xander's annoying little quips.

How long had it been again? He'd been out of his regular faculties whenever he thought of the past and worse still what the memories brought to him. Malia Tate was nothing like Buffy and further investigation through Hartland's notes reminded Giles  of his slayer less and less.

Malia had taken as well as she could to becoming the slayer, had left her old life behind as well as she could have and assimilated near complete into her calling. The notes had ended before Hartland's death. No one had known what Malia and her former departed watcher had been up against.

'Acathla.' Malia had said as she breezed into his rental home from the back door. 'Someone dug it out, someone wanted to start the Apocalypse and kidnapped Hartland, tortured him but I got there. Not in time to save Hartland and Haley, they were...point is, I broke the damn thing down to pieces and the world didn’t end.’f

She'd been tortured afterwards, her watcher killed and her best friend taken apart, quite literally, still alive.

Giles went into his research then, about Angelus and his curse and of course _of course_ a moment of true happiness would end it but after Buffy’s death Giles doubted that Angel would have moved on. So what did happen to end his curse? Before he could think of Angel further, Giles backroom door was thrown opened and Malia followed by Erica Reyes sauntered inside. Erica, mousy and shy as usual wore a face pale as snow and a brow furrowed with worry.

”What can you tell me about Derek Hale?” Malia asked. 

“Derek...Hale?” Giles sat straigter behind his desk, pushed his glasses up his nose. “Nothing much I’m afraid. His mother was the alpha of the territory before dying in a house fire ten years ago-wolfsbane surrounded the house, if rumor is to be believed. His sister was murdered several months ago and he became the alpha. As far as I know he’s perfectly content with keeping to himself.”

”Do all the teachers know about...you know...?” Erica whispered to Malia in terrified fascination, capturing Giles attention again. “Is this another one of those things we’re not supposed to talk about? Like werewolf bites and vampires because I’m standing in my history teachers living room, which is totally against the law, and talking about mouster’s and the supernatural.”

”Yes, well...” Giles clucked nervously, turned his attention to Malia in askance.

”Derek offered Erica the bite and I showed up before he could sink his teeth in her.” She crossed her arms, face sour. “He’s been waiting for me.”

”Waiting?” Giles stood and rounded the desk. “Did he say that? Specifically?”

”No. He almost said it, but it was pretty clear that he was waiting for the slayer. Not that he knows, he thinks I’m some kid that knows too much, that’s it, but there’s something happening here. He was waiting for the slayer to show up and apparently there’s a bit of a deadline. He’s protecting the town from vampires.”

”Did he say anything about a hellmouth?”

”No. Last I checked this wasn’t Cleveland.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is so damn late! My apologies to, probably, the one person who actually likes this story. I’m getting back into the mood of this also, I’m debating in writing some flashback one shots regarding Angel/Angelus. I’m putting some of my other stories on hold so I’ll have time for this one. Hope you liked this shorty I’ll be back updating soon.


End file.
